


Universal Laws

by SnippetsRUs



Category: Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Forgotten Realms, The Legend of Drizzt Series - R. A. Salvatore
Genre: Afterlife, Canon Compliant, City of Judgement, City of Shade, Fix-It, Fugue Plane, Gen, Horror, I'd call this canon divergent but it's actually canon compliant, Implied/Referenced Torture, Iruladoon, Light Angst, Netherese, Netheril, Other, Shades, Shadovar, Suspense, WotC critical, realmslore compliant, the canon divergence is on the published writers not me, universal laws
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:22:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24779071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnippetsRUs/pseuds/SnippetsRUs
Summary: This is a collection of short stories detailing how the Realms work and how contradictory RAS' (and some of WotC's and other Realms authors') writings are in comparison.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 13





	1. Iruladoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mielikki overstepped and now has to face the consequences of her actions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote from Rhaine's Tale used with permission from the lovely Auriana Valoria. Thank you so much for proofreading and providing me with your take on Kelemvor!

_“Neither mortals nor gods are above the law, and there are many among both who would be wise to heed such a warning.”_

– Kelemvor, _Rhaine's Tale_

* * *

“It is time for you to leave this place.” The voice was commanding, deep and dispassionate. Regis looked up at the towering form of a man dressed in blackened armour, and spotted an intricate silver mask that covered his entire face. Even his eyes disappeared behind it, the halfling noticed, and the only telltale sign of anything _human_ about him was the silver hair that peeked out from underneath his cowl.

Of course, Regis wasn't a fool. He knew Kelemvor, the Lord of the Dead, when he saw him.

“Why do you do this?” It was Catti-brie who asked this, her blue eyes darting between the Judge of the Damned and the equally large form of a red-haired woman in green cloth and brown leathers. “Mielikki promised us a safe haven here, until-”

“In so doing, she extends beyond her reach,” was the simple, pointed reply. Kelemvor hadn't even looked at the mortal when he spoke.

The halfling's gaze went to Mielikki. Her face was as youthful as ever, but it lacked its usual cheer. Catti-brie, like Regis, had been spirited away to this pocket plane, Iruladoon, upon their deaths. The Forest Queen had promised them they would stay there and that she would keep them safe.

Judging from the arrival of Kelemvor, however, it seemed she couldn't even keep the other gods out.

“A servant of Brandobaris awaits you,” Mielikki informed Regis, though her smile didn't reach her eyes. “The Fugue Plane is through the portal behind Kelemvor.” She nodded, though whether to assure them or herself was anyone's guess.

The rogue looked to his life-long friend. “What about you? Are you coming too?”

Kelemvor answered this one. “No. With Mystra dead, you, Catti-brie, are permitted to stay. Should the Lady of Mysteries return, however, then you must move on. Such are the laws of the universe.” He turned to regard his ranger colleague, who averted her gaze.

“Then Wulfgar and my father, they...” Catti-brie began, her voice failing her when next she spoke, “even... Drizzt.”

Regis swallowed, his heart breaking as he spoke the next words. “Then I suppose this is... farewell. Permanently.” He looked at the redhead, whose translucent face would have been tear-streaked had she still been alive.

“All I have is you,” the woman said, choking on a ghostly sob. “I can't even be with you in the afterlife?”

“You are surprised?” Kelemvor remarked off-handedly, still dispassionate in his tone. “The Churches of Jergal, Myrkul and even Cyric, as well as mine, have taught this for aeons. If you wanted to be together in the afterlife, you should have worshipped the same deity.”

“Enough, Kelemvor!” Mielikki snapped. “She is in enough pain as it is.”

The Lord of the Dead's masked gaze returned to the goddess. “Because she believed a lie, one you fed to her with false promises. Some of your critics even claim you took advantage of her mortal ignorance to claim another follower in the absence of her patron. I have told her the truth, something _you_ should have done from the beginning.” There was something about the figure of the Judge of the Damned that, despite the many layers of restraint, now outright frightened Regis. He noticed even the Forest Queen grew silent.

“Farewell then...” Catti-brie began, “my friend.” Her voice cracked up as those last words slipped past her lips. Despite this, she gave Regis an encouraging smile. “I hear Brandobaris' halls are a good place to be.”

The halfling nodded. “Drizzt will make new friends, and one day he will get his rest, too.” In truth, this state of existing between life and death had made him tired. A part of him _wanted_ to move on. In a way it was a mercy. He looked up at Kelemvor and offered up a half-smile. “Do you prefer I walk _around_ your feet or between them?”

“Around would be preferable,” the Lord of the Dead replied. Regis couldn't be sure, but he got the distinct feeling that there was the tiniest bit of amusement in Kelemvor's voice. The halfling's smile widened despite himself.

There were many things left that he wanted to do, places to see and people to meet. Regret had hung over him ever since he came to this place, haunting him despite the serene surroundings. His first step towards the portal was a heavy one. Before he could take the next, however, Catti-brie hugged him tightly.

“I'll miss you, Rumblebelly,” she muttered, but let him go before this action put her on Kelemvor's bad side.

Smiling, Regis merely nodded. “You too, Catti-brie. You too.” Then he walked around the Lord of the Dead, as promised, each step a little easier than the previous, and, with a shudder of relief, stepped through the portal.

Kelemvor turned to Mielikki. “The strands you have woven upon the souls of Wulfgar and Bruenor have been severed. They will journey to the Fugue Plane upon their deaths, as everyone else. Attempt to remake those bonds and you will suffer the consequences.” Then he, too, disappeared.


	2. The Memnonian Selûnites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betrayed by her own faithful through the deception of Shar, Selûne leaves her Memnonian "priests" for Kelemvor to judge.

_“The False intentionally betrayed a faith they believed in and to which they had made a personal commitment.”_

_“The False are punished according to their crimes in life and serve their sentence in the City of Judgement for eternity... Depending upon the severity of their crimes, some of the False may receive relatively light punishments, such as escorting visiting baatezu or patrolling the city for unauthorised guests. Others are punished in ways that would surprise the cruelest demon.”_

– An excerpt from the Deities chapter of the _Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting_ , detailing the Realmsian afterlife, page 259, “The City of Judgement”

_“Women heavily outnumber men, and many of the church's rituals honor the woman's role as a teacher and role model in the home and in society at large.”_

_“Her worshippers tend to be patient, accepting all with an understanding ear and a healing hand... Her church possesses a very chaotic hierarchy, which occasionally shifts with the phase of the moon or other less predictable heavenly phenomena. Clerics of Selûne value self-reliance, humility, and practical application of common sense far more than rigid adherence to stodgy ceremonies.”_

_“Wanderers of the church also subtly spread an ideology of female empowerment entwined with Selûnite homilies, which is growing popular among alewives, laundresses, seamstresses, and servants.”_

– An excerpt from Major Deities of Faerûn, in _Faiths and Pantheons_ , detailing the Moonmaiden's clergy, pages 55 and 56, “Selûne”

_“Having never forgiven herself for falling victim to Shar's machinations during the Time of Troubles, Naneatha has crusaded against the Dark Lady's followers ever since.”_

– An excerpt from Church of Selûne, in _City of Splendours: Waterdeep_ , on Naneatha Suaril, priestess of Selûne, who was duped by Shar's avatar into thinking she was her goddess, page 44.

* * *

Disgust.

That was the best way Kelemvor could describe the look on the Moonmaiden's face. Her silver eyes regarded her “priests” with sheer revulsion. There was also shock and confusion, as though she couldn't quite grasp that they were supposed to be hers.

Considering how they had gone completely against all of her teachings and traditions on every possible level, the Lord of the Dead wasn't surprised.

“Yinochek served your sister.” He'd seen the servant of the Lady of Loss pick him up on the Fugue, outside his city. Being new to his domain as Judge of the Damned, he didn't know the history that these priests had. He knew Selûne and Shar had been at war for aeons, and that the Dark Goddess enjoyed employing lies, deceit and manipulations to weaken Our Lady of Silver. It seemed the “high priest” had been one of her many agents.

Realisation came to Selûne's face and her eyes closed shut with barely repressed anger and frustration. Her countenance smoothed over shortly after, however, showing only a neutral expression. “They may have used my name to enrich themselves, and commit these endless... perversions, but they never uttered any prayers to me, nor did they call my name so I could hear them and grant them spells. My sister's deception was so grand I didn't even know I had a temple in Memnon.” She regarded the group that stood on the Fugue, waiting. “Yet the common folk there were faithful to me, and I have received their souls and will continue to do so. As for this group,” she waved her hand at the frightened men, “they knew my teachings, but deliberately betrayed me, sullying my name and everything I stand for, all for the sake of indulging their weaknesses.” The disgust returned. “I'll have nothing to do with them. Judge them as you please.”

“As you wish,” Kelemvor replied, a harshness in his own voice that mirrored the look on the Moonmaiden's face.

Something in her own gaze softened. “You make a better Lord of the Dead than your predecessors.”

He quirked an eyebrow behind his silver mask. “Truly?” His voice held more curiosity than anything else. “Despite my... _human_ shortcomings?”

She shook her head. “Compassion is a strength, not a weakness. You were new to your role, and didn't know all the rules yet. The perspective of gods was unknown to you as well. Yet you learn quickly.” A shadow of regret flashed across her eyes. “We should have approached you directly, but instead we went behind your back to Ao. I'm sorry I didn't come here. It was a failure on my part.”

That caught him by surprise. He hadn't expected such a blatant admission, let alone an apology. Yet he'd heard rumours that the Moonmaiden had argued to the other great gods that they address their issues to Kelemvor, giving him a chance to learn their ways. Of course, this suggestion had been shot down by Cyric.

While she had her own agenda to follow, just like all the other deities, the Judge of the Damned decided to throw her a figurative bone. “Few have an easy time speaking once Cyric opens his mouth.”

A string of pearly laughter sounded from Selûne, giving her a youthful energy not previously displayed. Her merriment eventually died down, but a warm smile remained. “You need not be alone, Kelemvor. Many gods combat the undead and would welcome your aid, or offer theirs to you. I think Lathander, Sehanine and Urogalan are particularly eager.”

“Perhaps I will seek them out, then,” he remarked off-handedly. Despite the recent setback in the Cynosure, he knew only the Mad God held a grudge against him. So far. He also knew that he'd need allies, just as the Moonmaiden suggested. There was an odd bit of comfort in her words, too, though he sealed that away behind his new, guarded form. “Have a safe journey back to the Gates of the Moon.”

Her smile was gone, but her eyes remained full of warmth. “Take care, Kelemvor. I do have some undead followers, but know I stand ready to aid you should you need me to.” Then she disappeared in a shower of stars.

Alone once more, Kelemvor turned away from where the Moonmaiden had stood. Huddled before his throne and flanked by paladins on all sides, the “priests” from Memnon had arrived in his city and now awaited his judgement.

Stepping out from the visitors' room, he moved up the steps and took his seat. As his late uncle had once taught him – it was bad manners to keep people waiting.


	3. The Eagle and the Jackdaw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Herzgo Alegni's half-sister is kidnapped by a Prince of Shade, the tiefling tries to join their organisation. It doesn't turn out the way he thought.

_“As for those not born Shadovar, the ruling class considers them fit only for servitude and conquest. The only exception is Faerûnian natives whom the arcanists have identified as possessing substantial Netherese ancestry. Telamont has authorized Prince Aglarel to seek out and capture those precious few in whose veins the ancient blood of Netheril yet flows. The Prince arranges for the secret abduction of these individuals, bringing them to the City of Shade where they can be examined and studied in order to determine whether they are worthy for induction.”_

– An excerpt from Major Organizations, in the _Lords of Darkness_ , detailing the Shades, page 86, “Recruiting”

_“Four small groups of pureblooded Netherese are believed to survive in the present day. The Marsh Drovers of the Farsea Marshes are thought to be descendants of Anauria who were never absorbed by the Chondathan inhabitants of Cormyr. The Tunlar barbarians of the Plains of Tun are believed to be descendants of the Rengarth barbarians (cousins of the Low Netherese) of southern Netheril. The nomadic barbarians of the Ride north of the Moonsea are believed to be descendants of the Angardt barbarians of northern Netheril (also cousins of the Low Netherese). Finally, the fourth floating city of High Netheril, known as Shade, survived the fall of Netheril by vanishing into the Plane of Shadow. Shade reappeared in 1372 DR, after generations of warfare with the malaugrym in the shadowplane. Shade now rests on the northern shore of the Shadow Sea, which was once the Shoal of Thirst.”_

– An excerpt from Humans, in _Races of Faerûn_ , detailing the Netherese ethnic group, page 107, “Human, Netherese”

_“'Shade' is a template that can be added to any humanoid creature.”_

– An excerpt from Monsters, in _Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting_ , specifying what kind of creatures can become Shades, page 314, “Shade”

_“Outsider: Tieflings are native outsiders.”_

– An excerpt from Characters, in _Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting_ , detailing the nature of tieflings, page 20, “Tiefling”

* * *

_“A jackdaw, envious of the eagle, tries to behave like one. But without the eagle's skills, he gets himself into a sticky situation and ends up as a pet for children, his wings clipped.”_

– Aesop's Fables

His stomach churned and a wave of dizziness washed over him, but he managed to remain on his feet. Herzgo Alegni stumbled a bit before he straightened and met the gaze of a most unhappy Shadovar. He had no idea who he was, nor had he a clue about Netherese propriety. All he knew was that the residents of the flying City of Shade were powerful and that they gave Mystra's Chosen pause. At least according to the rumours that had poured into the Ride.

That meant an opportunity for him to rise from the squalor in which he'd lived most of his life.

They were flanked on all sides by a dozen or so warriors and even a few men and women in robes – he figured they were mages of some sort. His fully human half-sister, a member of the nomads of the Ride, stood next to the Shadovar, yet her confused and frightened gaze went back and forth between him and her brother.

The room they were in was an antechamber of sorts, almost completely black except for a few shades of grey. There was no furniture, magical light being their only source of illumination, somewhat dimmed though their glow was.

Herzgo hadn't counted on the after-effect of tagging along for Angela's abduction ride through shadows. It had felt much like dropping into a twisted and distorting void. In many ways, he was still reeling with shock over what had happened.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn't cut you down where you stand.” The Shadovar man, dark grey in skin colour and with raven-black hair, drew his sword in one, swift motion and then held it up before him, the sharp tip pressing ever-so-slightly against Herzgo's throat. Judging from his pose and how quickly he moved, he'd probably have no trouble killing him.

Swallowing visibly, Herzgo made sure to meet the man's gaze squarely and flashed him his friendliest smile. “I've come to join your organisation. I wish to serve the Shadovar in their glorious conquest of Faerûn.”

He hadn't even reached halfway through his second sentence when every Shadovar in the room, apart from the one ready to kill him, broke into laughter. The mockery danced all around him like a brutal cacophany, and while his would-be killer hadn't joined them, the condescending smile he wore told him exactly how he felt about that. Eventually the merriment died down, though the sword against the tiefling's throat remained where it was.

“Arrogant, stupid brute,” spat one of the wizards, a woman he noticed, looking to be in her Prime. Her face was twisted with disgust. “You have no place among us! Filthy low-bred, crossed with the Lower Planes of all things!”

“She speaks the truth,” the warrior who had snatched away his sister, said. “We brought your sister here because she shows real promise for Netherese ancestry, but _you_...” He eyed Alegni from top to toe. “Your extraplanar blood alone makes you unsuited for the powers of a Shade, and no amount of demonstrations of loyalty would change that. Furthermore, your mortal blood is... Cormyrian? What little there is of Netheril in you is so watered-down it couldn't fill up even half a vial.”

“I have Netherese ancestry?” It was Angela who piped up, her gaze now fully on the man who had kidnapped her. The look on her face was that of unbridled curiosity. Like Herzgo, she had wanted to escape the hardships of her life, especially after her sorcery began to manifest. Tribes of any kind were terribly unforgiving of magic, especially in their girls. Her father had already killed one daughter for such a thing.

“The full extent of which we mean to investigate further,” the Shadovar explained. He frowned, though he kept his gaze on the tiefling. “You are not frightened by the prospect?”

She let out a most un-ladylike snort. “I'm surprised you didn't just tell me first-hand. I've been itching to get away from my tribe for years now.”

“And this one?” He nodded at Herzgo.

“Street rat from Cormyr,” she replied off-handedly, “claims to be my half-brother on my mother's side of the family. My father drove him away three times, yet he keeps coming back.” Her gaze was cold when she looked at him. “Like a cockroach.”

Alegni's blood boiled. “A cockroach that kept you safe from that self-same father of yours. Or need I remind you what would have happened only three days ago had I not intervened?”

Angela shot him a bored look.

The Shadovar, by contrast, looked as though he got an idea. “I suppose even insects have their uses.” At last, his sword was lowered and he even sheathed it. Then he turned to the pair of soldiers that stood behind the tiefling. “Escort our new... _servus_ to Arcanist Agrippa. Tell him my debt to him is repaid through this man. He will know what I mean.” Then he turned to Alegni. “Your offer has been accepted.”

Pressing their balled fists against their armoured chests, the warriors bowed in salute.

The tiefling offered a curt bow as well. “Thank you, My Lord.” It was a gamble as he didn't know the man's social standing. “You won't regret this.”

Alegni was led down many corridors until finally, they came upon a room that housed all sorts of alchemical equipment and spell reagents. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled from one end to the other with leather-bound tomes of various sizes. A man, hunched over and shorter than the Shadovar who'd ordered him there, turned and regarded the trio.

He looked annoyed with the intrusion, but once introductions were made and explanations presented, he brightened up considerably. The soldiers were dismissed and Herzgo was made to sit in a simple, wooden chair.

Then, before he could ask what would happen next, steel clamped down on his ankles, throat and wrists, and he found himself unable to move.

“What's the meaning of this?” His voice was angry as he kept fighting against his constraints.

“His Majesty didn't tell you?” The man named Agrippa shot him an odd look. Then he chuckled as he fished out a rather large spoon. “That's just like him. Most effective way to get volunteers, he always says. But that's our Prince Aglarel for you.”

“Volunteers for _what_?” Alegni's voice was a growl at this point.

“Spell components.” It was a simple response, but spoken with such a chilling level of pragmatism it sent shivers down the tiefling's spine. “Now then, I think we'll start with the eyes...”

Herzgo's screams of pain, muffled by the laboratory's closed door, went unheeded by all of the City of Shade.

* * *

“Are we done?” Steel-grey eyes stared at her from across the desk.

Angela smiled sweetly. Propped up against the counter on her side was Charon's Claw, humming in tune with her heritage. “We most certainly are. Enjoy your time off, while you can.”

Barrabus the Grey left without a word.


End file.
